Beauty and the Beast
by Chloe Grey
Summary: Yes, Hermione believed he could grow away from it. She had until very recently, anyhow, because going into the past simply to murder someone was a little over the edge of humane. TOMHERMIONE, with a little Beauty and the Beast plot. Oh yes.


**Discalimer:** Were I to own Harry Potter, there would be a Remus Lupin for me, for Sirius, and maybe even Tonks... if I was in a good mood.

Beauty and the Beast

_Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. _

_But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. _

_The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there. _

_Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. _

_As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?_

**Saturday, December 14, 1996**

Voldemort sat at the tip of the Malfoy's dining table, his fingers steepled, awaiting the moment the hall doors would burst open and reveal the key to his prize.

He stared idly through the arched window curving over the top of the doors, at the leafless trees writhing in the snow. They looked so menacing, yet so helpless; it was a shame to watch. The Dark Lord shook his head as Bellatrix Lestrange entered the room greedily, her eyes for nothing but him.

"Please, my Lord," she whispered, sinking to her knees at his feet, "let _me_ go. I will not fail you, I swe-"

"I have made my decision, Bella," he whispered back cruelly, "do you not trust my judgement?"

The girl's eyes widened as she stuttered for something to say, eventually she rose to her feet and sneered, "Of course not. I was only suggesting. It would be more convenient, I think, considering."

"Oh, there will be no need for harsh attitude. All will be well soon enough."

At his words, a ruthless grumble entered the room as the tall doors were pulled open. Voldemort's eyes traced the intertwined figure struggling in the shadows before him.

"I see you've done fairly well, Yaxley," Voldemort commented, still glancing amusedly at the pair of them. His gaze lingered hungrily upon soft, brown curls and a torn scarf embedded with scarlet and gold.

"I pulled her off the train," said Yaxley. Bellatrix snorted proudly and stared at the ceiling.

"So you did." Voldemort stood from his chair and floated nearer to their additions, his robes wisping around him like a crowd of frightened children.

"Get _off _me," the girl gasped, sinking to her knees as she escaped Yaxley's grip. The man took a fistful of her hair and used it to pull Hermione Granger back to her feet.

"Pathetic, _Mudblood_," Yaxley spat, rubbing his hand against his traveling cloak as if he'd stuck his hand in something disgusting.

"Now, now," Voldemort said while he started toward a small door at the end of the room, "You'll need to be more polite, Yaxley, for we need our guest's help."

He pulled the door open, a dark hallway opening to a small, moonlit room stood behind it. "But you know that of course."

Yaxley began to stride toward the door, pulling Hermione by the enchanted knot of rope tying her hands together.

"I'm not doing anything for you," she muttered, although she kept up with Yaxley, probably not wanting to be dragged more than she already had.

"We'll see about that."

Bellatrix was last to enter the hall. She closed the door behind her, calmly, while it banged shut with a bit too much force.

"Bellatrix," the Dark Lord said, "Do tell me if you need to sit this one out. I'll understand."

Bellatrix, hurt at the use of her full name, simply shook her head and followed Yaxley, her Lord, and their prisoner to the blueish room.

Voldemort was first to reach it; he chose a book from the small case in the corner and dropped it to the round, stone table perched in the middle of the room.

Hermione hurried to stand behind it, Yaxley and Bellatrix behind her, she peered at the book curiously. It was old, with a silver binding that blended almost with the table. The title read _Reverto ut Vicis_.

The girl gasped and turned to Voldemort. "Explain," she demanded fearlessly, forgetting upon seeing the book her stubbornness. Or maybe she just let herself over to curiosity. Pity.

Voldemort pursed his lips. _Better to tell her, it will be done by the time she has a chance to tell anyone._

"We," he started, "_I_, need something from you. From a time when… well, it's never good to leave something in a beginning. Mostly, you cannot get it back. But now that I have this book, I'll be sending Yaxley here to retrieve it for me."

"And you need me, why?"

Voldemort smiled. "Because you were the first person I thought of who would be able to perform the spell. And I figure Everybody's Favorite Hero will be pleased to hear you helped in my quest."

"I never said I was helping," Hermione said, though it was without feeling.

"I never said you had a choice," replied Voldemort menacingly.

Hermione glared at him, and it startled Voldemort. He wasn't scared, no, never. Just surprised. Nobody had glared at him since… well, that's why he was doing this all.

The Mudblood was first to give in.

"Fine," she mumbled. "But I'll need to have my hands untied if I do anything."

"Yes. Bellatrix," he waved his hand impatiently.

The ropes fell to the ground and Hermione stretched her arms, rubbing her wrists. "Thank you," she said coldly.

"All right, let's begin. We only have all night."

Hermione rolled her eyes and opened the book to the page marked by a bookmark. She mentally translated the script to English, and bit her lip.

"I'll need a wand. And… a hair of the _traveler_, a word describing the starting memory, the accomplished date… and a _rose_."

Yaxley scratched his head. "Master, I think we may have a problem…"

"Yes?"

"Well, I'll be damned if I let _that_ touch a hair on my head."

Hermione sighed.

"Your cloak?" she said, holding out an impatient hand.

Voldemort chuckled.

Embarrassed, Yaxley removed his cloak and placed it in Hermione's hand. "Don't get smart with me, doll."

Hermione pinched the cloak in her hands, squinting in the moonlight. After a moment she picked a hair from the dark wool and placed it on the table in front of her.

Bellatrix handed her a wand, and Hermione took it from her without looking up from the book.

Something about her easiness made Voldemort _uneasy_. Which he disliked.

"Hurry up," he said. The sooner she was gone, the better.

"I am," Hermione replied coldy, still not looking up from the book. She cleared her throat and practiced a waving motion with Bellatrix's wand a few times. "All right, I'm starting. But while I do this, could you explain a little more?"

Again, the Dark Lord chuckled. "Always curious. Well, yes, see, Yaxley here will remain _here_, with us. However, his mind will enter our, ah, _victim_'s body. The past will repeat itself exactly until Yaxley takes a conscious change of path – one he is fairly sure was not made the first time around. He will have exactly until our timer, the rose you were earlier curious about, rings, therefore, until the last petal falls, to destroy the girl from within."

"We're thinking suicide," Yaxley laughed. Hermione bit her lip to keep from saying anything that would get her further into trouble. As she continued to work on the spell, Hermione wondered what on earth this girl had done that made her destruction so important to Voldemort's success.

After everything was set up, Hermione took one last glance at the book and said. "I'm ready."

Yaxley squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. "Me too," he said, his voice cracking.

Bellatrix laughed viciously, "Aren't scared, Yaxley, are we? You heard the Dark Lord, you'll be there and back before we know it… however, in your case, it could be a little longer.

Voldemort considered Bellatrix's face – her eyebrows raised at Yaxley, her lips only just pursed. "That's all to be figured out soon, isn't it?"

"I'll need the date, please," Hermione interrupted, impatient to get out of here… hopefully they'd let her out… _well_, she thought to herself, peachy, _now I have a wand_.

"December Fourteenth, Nineteen forty-three."

"And the mem-"

"Beauty."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, though turning away so Voldemort wouldn't see. She took a deep breath and trailed one finger along the book as she read its spell, waving Bellatrix's wand through the air in a long, fleet pattern. "Reverto ut memoria, operor non vereor, preteritus est prope hic. Vos mos non perdo, vel defluo, pro ego mos rector vos per."

As she spoke the words, the air blurred in front of them. Foggy colors twisted and blended, only to pull apart again and again. Reds and grays clung to eachother, dark, mysterious blues faded in and out. Finally, parts of a picture became obvious as they scattered over what now resembled a screen, desperate to find their place. There was a mud-covered stone, a sharp shadow across a staircase, a Golden door handle, the edge of an elegant banister.

"What is this? Girl, what have you done?"

"I've done exactly what your book told me to," replied Hermione calmly. Her eyes were sparkling with interest as they gazed upon the misty scene.

"But Master," said Bellatrix, who had never seen the Dark Lord look so nervous, it was almost as if he (alone) knew what was coming. "What is it?"

"It's…"

But Voldemort didn't get to finish his sentence, because the picture cleared and a group of giggling girls entered what Hermione now recognized as the Great Hall. One of them was walking, or more being forced, at the front of the group – her petite figure still blurred by the transparency of the illusion. However, it was clear that she had brown hair, fifties-style, and a nice rack of Muggle braces.

The four of them watched in a mixture of interest and horror as a young boy entered the Hall; a boy Hermione knew to be a young version of Tom Riddle. While the mystical picture adjusted to his presence, Hermione glared to glance away for a moment, just to compare.

Tom Riddle was handsome. Very handsome, even as he was on the screen, at about twelve or thirteen. Why would anybody want to change themselves, and more on that, make themselves so strangely unhuman. Any type of humanity left in the guy was Voldemort's first chance at survival, survival away from this mess he'd created.

Yes, Hermione believed he could grow away from it (she'd never tell anybody, of course.) She had until very recently, anyhow. At this point, immense curiosity was the only thing keeping her on board with _Riddle_'s little game.

Because – illegally – going into the past simply to murder someone was a little over the edge of humane.

Suddenly, the giggling ceased along with the chatter. Somebody at the Hufflepuff table set his spoon down, and the clatter as it hit the plate rang, the sound intensified by the silence. Slytherins were smirking and snorting silently. Ravenclaws were whispering excitedly, trying to guess what would happen. Hufflepuffs were gazing toward the doors in awe and confusion. Gryffindors were sitting on their knees and standing to get a better view.

And the cause of all of this was that the small girl from the group of robe-clad Ravenclaws had pulled, or been pushed, away from her friends to stand in front of Tom Riddle.

Hermione was looking on when the girl spoke, and Tom reacted in a very un-Voldemort-like way.

"Hello Tom." The girl was wringing her hands nervously.

Tom looked over his shoulder, at the Slytherin table, and back at her.

He nodded. "Jane."

"Well, it's Hogsmeade weekend…" The girl, called Jane, glanced over her shoulder as well. "I was just wondering if, you know, you wanted to go together?"

Tom didn't answer. He opened his mouth a few times, his eyes darting as near as they could to his harbor and hell, the Slytherins, without actually turning his head.

Jane bit her lip and continued, "With me?"

This time Tom really _did_ look back, desperate for some help.

And that was when Hermione realized it was a memory. The spell was showing them, specifically the traveler, what knowledge was needed for them to be able to fit in to the plot line, no mistakes.

Tom Riddle's memory played out in front of Hermione's eyes; students were giggling and gasping and yelling their opinions, teachers were… well, Professors, and Tom's mouth was opening very slowly and deliberately.

"Riddle and Alexander, sitting in a tree! S-n-o-g-g-i-n-g!"

"She cannot be serious."

"Oh man, I was gonna ask him."

"I bet she was dared."

"He's too handsome for her. He'll say no."

"Just like everyone else, right Cassie?"

And then Tom's mouth was opened and he was either talking without thinking at all, or using a line he'd spent altogether too much time preparing.

"I'm sorry, I'll have to decline. Mudblood isn't my type."

And then he was walking away. There was an applaud from one end of the room, a stream of insults from the other, but the middle section was mostly quiet. Jane sat at the Ravenclaw table, her friends all around her and her chin held high, as if his answer hadn't mattered anyway.

Hermione knew it had. But the screen was materializing now, and soon the room's air returned to a damp fog. The anticipation and laughter one was always prone to while eating in the Great Hall was gone, and a silent awkwardness was left behind.

"Get on with the spell," spat Voldemort as if nothing had happened.

Hermione sighed and begun Levitating the rose with her wand.

"Operor sentio, pro quis Inquam est verus, tamen can bechanged ut officium est vobis! Reverto ut vicis nostrum pectus pectoris does peto, nostrum tantum clue…" Hermione glanced around the room. After she finished the spell, and Yaxley was gone in mind, she'd only have Merlin knows how long to escape. She didn't know what affects the spell would have, timetravel was still etchy, so it looked like Hermione Granger was winging it. Interesting.

"Beauty."

Her mouth formed around the word, and no sooner had it echoed on the stone walls of the Malfoy mansion than the rose exploded in a could of light, filling her eyes with a sharp, Golden light.

And then the world was spinning, and she wasn't in the room anymore, just a round tunnel of gilded radiance, and Hermione knew something must have gone terribly wrong.

**A/N: **Hope you liked! Review if you did, because I hear it's universally known that authors tend to update when you do. :D


End file.
